Q: Most of the posts I’ve read here about the pre-engaged state begin with, “I know it will happen to us eventually.” I thought I was in that camp, too. I’m approaching a year of living with my partner, and I’m more in love every day.…

Q: Most of the posts I’ve read here about the pre-engaged state begin with, “I know it will happen to us eventually.” I thought I was in that camp, too. I’m approaching a year of living with my partner, and I’m more in love every day. My boyfriend is a total romantic, and as far out as we have any real plans (maybe five years), our plans involve each other. We had talked about marriage (hypothetically) once before, and I remember leaving the conversation thinking, well we’re obviously not both ready right now, but someday.

Flash forward four months, to a week ago, when we’re on the couch and he’s saying he “doesn’t believe in marriage” because shit happens and you can’t predict your life with anyone that far out; he feels that people only get married so others think differently about the couple, and that getting married for others would be meaningless; his parents and our best friends have dysfunctional marriages; and he just doesn’t ever want to be divorced. He might get married if he had already been with “someone” for twenty years. He said, “If I married you, it would be to appease you, which would be worthless.” He said, “Let’s never get married. I think it would make our relationship worse.”

He may be a cynic, but I had not expected that. No matter how many times I reminded him that I wasn’t proposing, just talking (we are on either side of twenty-five, young), he was worked up and defensive. To my end, I was calm but not a hundred percent affirming his view. I was so incredulous that he felt so strongly that I kept asking questions to see what he felt.

I believe in a thing called marriage!!! I am really fifty/fifty about kids, but I know a hundred percent that I want to be married and be half of a marriage with THIS man. I don’t want to “lock him in so he can’t run away,” a comment he’s mentioned before, just make a promise to this man I love so deeply that I will show up every day, rain or shine, and put in my effort, compassion, and support.

So, I thought we were pre-engaged, but it looks like we might not be pre-anything. If I wait a year to bring it up again, am I being disrespectful for thinking he’ll just change his mind when he’s older, when the idea of marriage is more real and less nightmare/fantasy? How am I supposed to feel about this? Help!

This is Great, but not “Pre”-Anything

A:Dear TIGBNPA,

If this is truly a wild surprise to you, there’s a good chance something has happened. A marriage close to him has fallen apart, a friend is caught in an extramarital affair situation, something. You mentioned both his parents and his best friends are in “dysfunctional marriages”—is that a recent development? Have those relationships taken a significant turn for the worse lately? If the man you know has always been pro-marriage, and then suddenly thinks it’s all a sham, it’s likely that something has shaken his understanding of marriage.

You’ll need to talk about it again. He was defensive, you were caught off guard, and I’m guessing neither of you communicated what you meant to. Revisit that conversation now that you’ve had a chance to process this new information a bit, reassure him that you aren’t trying to put him in a corner, and maybe explain that this stance is coming as a surprise to you. I’m sure you expected me to say all that.

But before you have that conversation, we need to get one thing straight: never wait around for someone to change their mind.

By doing so, you’re assuming that you’re right, and he’s wrong. That he just needs to eventually see the light. That’s not a great place to start. You’re both adults with very different, equally valid choices regarding this topic. I may disagree with his opinion of marriage (and I do), but I can’t disagree with the idea that he’s decided that marriage is not for him. That’s not my call to make, and it’s not up to you to decide that he’ll eventually change his mind, that this is a phase he’ll outgrow, or that he just hasn’t given it enough thought.

It also sets you up for disappointment. Let’s say you wait a year, like you said. What if he hasn’t changed his mind? Now you’ve invested an additional twelve months of time and energy and emotion into this guy who still doesn’t have the same long-term goals that you do. That only compounds the disappointment and confusion in laying plans, rather than adding any clarity.

So take this new information at face value. He never wants to get married. You do. What next? With the knowledge that he’ll never marry you, will you be content in this relationship? Or is it time to set out and find someone who is on board for the type of life you’d hoped to build?

Like I said, that means at least one more conversation with him, but also a lot more thought for you. What does marriage mean to you? What is it about marriage that you really want? What will you be sacrificing by staying with someone who is unwilling to sign on for those things?

You may answer those questions and realize that he isn’t able to offer you the sort of commitment you hope to have. Or you may answer those questions and find that your definition of marriage isn’t too far off from his definition of non-marriage. Either way, make that decision with all of the information available, not with the hope that things may possibly change.

If you would like to ask Team Practical a question please don’t be shy! You can email: askteampractical [at] apracticalwedding [dot] com. If you would prefer to not be named, anonymous questions are also accepted. Though it really makes our day when you come up with a clever sign-off!

I wanted to cut my hair, but I couldn’t. Not until after I got married. My hair was as long as it’d ever been, skimming my nipples in the shower and reminding me daily of my senior portrait. Reminding me of some girlishness I wanted to escape, and all its pressures, too.…

I wanted to cut my hair, but I couldn’t. Not until after I got married. My hair was as long as it’d ever been, skimming my nipples in the shower and reminding me daily of my senior portrait. Reminding me of some girlishness I wanted to escape, and all its pressures, too.

I don’t know when I became obsessed with the beehive. It just happened one day, and afterward I could hardly imagine another hairdo for my wedding. Nothing could be more sophisticated, more retro, more “me” than wearing a beehive and a tea-length fifties style gown to my wedding. That was who I was meant to be. That was me as my best self. There was only one glitch: I was still waiting for my partner to propose.

I have gorgeous hair. It’s thick and wavy and once, a friend told me at her own wedding, that my hair was beautiful and was the type of hair that made other women jealous. She was wearing a flower headband in her pixie cut, her smile was almost painfully broad, and she seemed happier than I’d ever imagined she could be. She looked so beautiful.

I felt ready to be that beautiful. But more than that, I felt so ready to be done with looking beautiful. My hair weighed on me. I couldn’t wear a hat because it was impossible to put my hair back in order at work. I couldn’t wear it down on days when I went to the gym at lunch for the same reason. I wore it in a messy bun almost everyday because I couldn’t think of a damn thing to do with it anymore. I wanted the beehive and then I wanted it gone.

I waited for the proposal. And waited. We talked about getting married. He wasn’t ready and wasn’t sure he ever would be ready. He was keeping me from my beehive. More importantly, by keeping me from the beehive, he was keeping me from my post-beehive life: the life of the pixie-cut.

That was the life I wanted to get back to, the life I’d led the last time I’d cropped my hair so short. Studying abroad at Oxford, I was walking four miles a day past centuries-old stone buildings to and from class, making friends from across the globe, studying theory and ancient texts, and cooking for myself for the first time. I’d never been as much myself as I was that year. I’d never felt as sophisticated or comfortable as I did with my fresh pixie hair.

Post-wedding, I was going to make the big chop. Like my mother, like my best friend, like many other women I knew, I was going to grow my hair long and beautiful for the wedding, and then chop it off as a ritual transition to my life as wife. The life in which I would effortlessly meet glamorous friends, finally publish my book, and actually get good at cooking.

I had some fairly high expectations for myself and my wedding and our marriage, I guess.

Then, as suddenly as my obsession began, I realized my wedding wasn’t the only place to satisfy it. Sure, a beehive isn’t really a hairstyle I could pull off at work, but my cousin’s wedding was coming up. Plenty of people have their hair done for other people’s weddings, right? I could be one of those people! The dress I bought for the wedding would be perfect with a beehive. So I booked an appointment. My wait was ending.

I arrived at the salon armed with photos. The stylist seemed genuinely excited to try it out. I sat under a hood dryer for the first time in my life and, despite the intense heat or perhaps because of it, I felt like a real woman. My grandmother had gotten her hair done once a week for most of her adult life. I’m sure she would have been right there next to me, if she’d lived to attend my cousin’s wedding.

After drying like a raisin under the hood for two hours, I was in for an hour of painful teasing and prodding. I know the stylist was trying to be gentle, but I have a sensitive scalp and the pulling and pricking hurt. I realized, looking at the crinkles in my forehead, that this wouldn’t have been such a great way to start a wedding day.

But the finished product was gorgeous. I felt stunning as I grabbed a cab (a luxury almost as rare as having my hair styled!) down to the hotel to meet my family for the wedding. I couldn’t stop touching it in all its hairsprayed stiffness. Throughout the event, I admired it from multiple angles with my smartphone and accepted compliments on it with a grace I hardly knew I possessed. I was beautiful. The wedding was beautiful. The next day, taking out each pin and every tangle, I was so glad it was over I booked an appointment for The Haircut.

I still look beautiful. Sure, the new cut shows off some gray patches and probably ages me unnecessarily. I’m still not totally sure what to do with these newfangled bang-things I have in the front. But, the girlishness and weight of my old hair are gone. I feel serious and happy and ready for my next adventure, which right now, isn’t looking like marriage. And that’s okay. I still have plenty of new friends to make, a book to publish, and some cooking skills to master.

Q: My boyfriend and I knew from early on in our relationship that we wanted to get married. Six months ago, he had a ring purchased, and was beginning to plan the proposal. We are the type of couple where we share almost everything with each other.…

Q: My boyfriend and I knew from early on in our relationship that we wanted to get married. Six months ago, he had a ring purchased, and was beginning to plan the proposal. We are the type of couple where we share almost everything with each other. I rarely have a thought in my head that I don’t voice to him, and vice versa, so I was very involved in choosing the ring, but I wasn’t allowed to know any details about how he was going to propose.

Then life happened. He lost his job, and the ring that he had just purchased no longer seemed practical. I told him to return it, and we discussed the fact that we wanted to wait until we were financially secure to be engaged. I was at peace with the decision.

Now we’re back on track and back to planning an engagement. He has a new (more affordable) ring, and his ducks are lining up nicely. The issue I’m having is that I’m fairly certain—read 99.99 percent certain—that he wants to propose in the fall, AT LEAST SEVEN MONTHS FROM NOW! On a levelheaded day I am reasonable and understand that there’s a reason that he wants to do it at that time. It’s our favorite season, and he’s wanted the engagement to be romantic and over the top. Most days, however I am not even a little bit levelheaded. I can’t stand the idea of waiting more than half a year to begin this stage of our relationship. I’ve already waited so long!

How do I deal with knowing that I’ll be in the pre-engaged state for another six months, and how do I keep from driving him crazy while he makes his plans?

—C

A:Dear C,

Meh. What’s the rush?

Best-case scenario, you’re going to be married to this guy until the end of your life. I don’t know your age, but I’m assuming that’s optimistically a good bit longer than six months.

Engagements are fun and exciting. But you know what else is? Dating. Being single. Looking forward to an engagement. Having full control over the remote control and being able to eat the last Oreo without playing rock-paper-scissor. These are the things you get to appreciate for a little while longer. Embrace them!

I’m being a little flip, but seriously. I do understand. And as a happily married lady, I wish I could articulate just how special our short dating time was, and then our short engaged time (and before all of that, our short “no really, guys, we’re just friends, I swear” time). We dated for three long years before he proposed, and in retrospect, those three years feel like the blink of an eye. And I’m not even some wizened old married lady!

A lot changes once you’re engaged, and again once you’re married—and I don’t even necessarily mean as a result of either of those things. That’s just the nature of time, of developing as an individual, of being in a relationship that grows and ebbs and flows. The meet-up spots, the jokes, the shared interests that are special to you now, may not be by this time next year. Forever and always you’ll look back on these times, these places, these terrible radio hits that are on a constant loop, and remember exactly what it was like to be in this specific, short-lived time of your relationship.

Why rush that?

So, let me ask you. What is it about engagement that you’re in such a hurry to get? Is it the planning? You know Pinterest has secret boards now, right? Is it the ring? Go get yourself some pretty new jewelry. It can be really hard to wait, but anticipation is half the fun, and the memories you’re building together right now are also a really special piece of your relationship.

Team Practical, how do you endure the (sometimes agonizing) wait for the next step of your relationship?

If you would like to ask Team Practical a question please don’t be shy! You can email Liz at: askteampractical [at] apracticalwedding [dot] com. If you would prefer to not be named, anonymous questions are also accepted. Though it really makes our day when you come up with a clever sign-off!

This post includes one or more of our sponsors, who are a key part of supporting APW. Check out the Directory page for Emily Takes Photos.

A few days before Christmas I realized, with an unexpected twinge of dread, that my boyfriend was going to propose. John came home from a solo shopping trip looking sheepishly excited. “You’re going to love your gift,” he ventured.…

A few days before Christmas I realized, with an unexpected twinge of dread, that my boyfriend was going to propose. John came home from a solo shopping trip looking sheepishly excited. “You’re going to love your gift,” he ventured. I grunted and didn’t look up from my book, so perhaps to entice me, he added, “It was really expensive. This much…” He held out his hands a distance apart.

“Wow,” I said.
“It might make you cry.”
“Okay.”

I finally glanced up at the gift-wrapped package now settled innocently under our tree, and narrowed my eyes. It was about the size of a jewelry box. We had been in a vintage jewelry store a few days ago, shopping for someone else, and he’d asked me casually, “Which stones do you like?”

Looking at the package, I made the connection. And I’m ashamed to admit, my first panicked thought was, “But I’ll be in my pajamas when he proposes!”

When I was five or six, I took a dried pea from my mother’s pantry and shoved it under my mattress. Surely if I had enough bruises in the morning my Prince Charming would appear. At the very least, could I please fall asleep for a hundred years and be awakened by true love’s kiss? By the time I was ten I had designed my wedding invitations and named my five future children, all daughters. My honeymoon was going to be in Giverny, France, among Monet’s famed lily pads (I was a sophisticated ten-year-old).

I blame my parents. My mother read fairy tale after fairy tale aloud to me. When I was older we watched Jane Austen novels on Masterpiece Theater and of course cooed over Meg Ryan falling in love with Tom Hanks. My father joked that the only reason for a woman to go to college was to find a husband, mocking the era he had been born into. The humor went over my head. I fully intended to meet someone, preferably someone dark and mysterious, like the heroes of my stories.

I did meet him. I met him during freshman orientation week. And he turned out to be as passionately delusional as I was. He told me even before we had officially begun dating that he wanted to marry me someday, and he named our first son-to-be barely a week later. Except for a requisite rough patch, we were inseparable for the remainder of our undergraduate experience. My idea of romantic love was intense and consuming. Being near him became my sole purpose in life. I was convinced that without him, I would die of a broken heart (come on, I was twenty and read all of Pablo Neruda’s sonnets).

I held onto the hazy notion that after graduation our lives would somehow suddenly be in order, and we would get married, and everything would be perfect. I didn’t visualize much further than the wedding itself. But after graduation we moved to another city together for graduate school. More school. More loans. No wedding. At some point, we grew up a little, whatever that means. My idea of love became more practical. This had something to do with sharing a bathroom and discussing who would walk the dog at lunchtime. John stopped whispering sweetly about forever. I consoled myself by sneaking peeks at wedding blogs under the covers at night.

Once wedding blog-reading got depressing, I began to question my concept of a relationship between a boy and a girl. The possibilities were limitless. What if I wanted to start my career in a different city? I could visit on weekends and we could just stay in bed and have crazy getting-back-together sex, and then not argue about whose turn it was to wash the dishes because we’d have our separate dishes. Or maybe I could also date other people! But when I asked John for an open relationship he looked at me like a lost, abused puppy, so I dropped it. (I suggest you not try this unless you feel very confident in your commitment to each other.) That afternoon, looking at that package under the tree, I suddenly realized that all those lavish weddings that I had so meticulously envisioned over the years had one thing in common: there was no groom standing at the altar, or if there was one, he was faceless. Secret wedding planning was a hobby that had little to do with my relationship, and everything to do with an attempt to grasp at the fading remnants of my little-girl fantasy life.

Marriage is another story entirely. Marriage does not need a white dress. It does not need floral arrangements or a string quartet. It does not even need the right person. Because, what does that even mean? How do you know who the “right” person is? What marriage needs is what we already have—compassion, a few shared interests, and stubbornness. The will to stick it out on the bad days, knowing there is a good day for every bad day. It is unrealistic to expect more from a relationship than you do from a close friendship. You may not always like them, but they will always be your friend.

On Christmas morning I made a point of dragging myself out of bed with plenty of time to take a shower. I even resisted the urge to step right back into my old sweatpants. I wasn’t about to let John get down on his knees in front of a slob. My throat tightened as I unwrapped the tiny black velvet box. What was I going to say? I couldn’t say no. After all, I love him. But how could I tell him that the moment had passed? That the time for getting engaged was gone, along with the fluttering stomach butterflies and the sleepless nights holding hands? I flipped the lid open. Never has a Christmas gift given me so much relief. It was a pair of earrings. I had been over-thinking a pair of earrings for days.

So, is a wedding in the cards for us? Maybe or maybe not. I suppose it is old fashioned to leave the responsibility in your boyfriend’s hands, to wait for him to get around to buying a ring. But the truth is it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I could be happy either way. There is nothing to wait for because we have already arrived.

My boyfriend and I have talked about getting married for about two years, and in that time we have talked about everything we want or don’t want, we picked out a ring and have more or less declared ourselves soon to be married, pending the proposal.…

My boyfriend and I have talked about getting married for about two years, and in that time we have talked about everything we want or don’t want, we picked out a ring and have more or less declared ourselves soon to be married, pending the proposal. Our relationship in general is a team effort, so few things get left unsaid or discussed.

That’s been all well and good. But I recently found out more details about the proposal than I would have liked—we share computers and I accidentally found out the when of it. Should I say something? Should I pretend I didn’t see anything at all? It seems silly because frankly the proposal is not much more than a formality at this point. Our friends are getting engaged left, right, and center—so yeah, I think I am putting undue pressure to compare myself to where our friends are. And sometimes I sort of feel like we are holding the phone for this big tadaa! moment, when we could just delve in and start planning. It is about us being married at the end of the day, after all.

I think I am just looking for some insight about how to handle the pre-engaged anxiety, pressure, and expectation about this “moment” of a proposal—and asking myself if I’ve ruined it now…

Somewhat Sad And Perplexed

Dear SSAP,

What I’m supposed to tell you is that engagement isn’t about a special, perfect surprise moment. It’s about the beginning of a relationship, one built on healthy communication and honesty. In light of that, who cares if the surprise is ruined? Just be honest about what you found.

That’s what I’m supposed to say. That’s the advice column answer. But, as a lady in a relationship myself? In my own life? I gotta tell you, I wouldn’t say anything to your partner.

The surprise moment is ruined for you already. Why ruin it for him? Even more than you’re invested in this happy-surprise (and I know you are), he’s probably super invested in planning and plotting and getting excited at the anticipation of just melting your face off with surprise. I wouldn’t spoil that for him. I’d even go so far as to feign shock and maybe force out a tear. Go for that Daytime Emmy, lady.

There’s possibly some bit of healthy relationship advice in there about putting your partner before yourself or some such. But the reality is that it’s probably just not that big of a deal. If you don’t tell him you found out? You’re disappointed that it’s not a surprise, but the moment still ends up being awesome and special because, girl, you’re engaged and you’re getting married and that’s emotional whether you read his email or not. If you tell him that you found out? You’re disappointed, he’s disappointed, and you both move on and figure out a new special way to have a moment (or he just gives you the ring, or something) but either way you end up engaged and you’re getting married and that’s still big.

But see, in your email? You also threw in that bit about comparing yourself to your friends and wondering if you shouldn’t be farther along, and it just makes me wonder if instead of asking, “Should I tell him?” what you’d really like to ask is, “WHY AREN’T WE ENGAGED YET?” You saw the date of the planned proposal, and instead of getting excited about that day rolling up, you started freaking out about why it hasn’t happened yet and, “What are we waiting for?”

THAT. That is the stuff that you guys need to talk about. Whether or not you glanced at an email that could possibly ruin a surprise—meh. Who cares. That’s probably not make-or-break. But, this stuff about dissatisfaction in where your relationship stands and how quickly (or slowly) it’s moving to the next phase is the stuff you need to specifically vocalize. That’s the sort of thing where honesty and communication are necessary. That’s a conversation that shouldn’t be left unsaid.

So if you are genuinely writing in to ask if you’ve ruined anything and if you should tell him you know the date? The answer is, “No,” and, “Depends.” But, if there’s a chance that instead all of that stuff made very real insecurity surface about how your relationship is (or isn’t) progressing. Talk about it. Yes, yes, yes. Talk about it.

But, no, you still didn’t ruin anything.

*****

Team Practical, have you ever spoiled your partner’s plans to surprise you? How do you decide what to discuss honestly?

If you would like to ask Team Practical a question please don’t be shy! You can email Liz at: askteampractical [at] apracticalwedding [dot] com. If you would prefer to not be named, anonymous questions are also accepted. Though it really makes our day when you come up with a clever sign-off!

]]>http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/09/ruining-surprise-engagement/feed/128I Bought a Wedding Dress—I’m Not Engaged and I’m Not Crazyhttp://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/buying-a-wedding-dress-before-youre-engaged/
http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/buying-a-wedding-dress-before-youre-engaged/#commentsTue, 16 Apr 2013 18:30:41 +0000http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/i-bought-a-wedding-dress-im-not-engaged-and-im-not-crazy/The state that we (with tongue in cheek) call “pre-engaged” on APW is a weird one. It’s strange, hovering in the space where you have a pretty good idea that you’re going to marry the person you’re with, but you’re not ready to be engaged yet.…

The state that we (with tongue in cheek) call “pre-engaged” on APW is a weird one. It’s strange, hovering in the space where you have a pretty good idea that you’re going to marry the person you’re with, but you’re not ready to be engaged yet. There is no cultural validation for this. There is a whole lot of sexist bullshit about this. It’s lonely. It can make you feel crazy. Sarah Erdlen’s post is ostensibly about buying a dress before getting engaged. But in reality, it’s about finding a way to sensibly navigate the pre-engaged waters.

I just bought a wedding dress without being engaged or in the midst of wedding planning, and I am not crazy.

To be fair, my definition of “wedding dress” is simply “a dress I’d like to wear when I get married,” rather than “white gown designed specifically for brides.” What allowed this purchase, however, has little to do with the merits of the dress itself (though there are many), and more to do with how my partner and I have communicated about our eventual wedding. I’ve been addicted to APW for almost a year, admiring the sassy writers and intelligent, diverse points-of-view. So it’s no wonder, living with my committed partner, that weddings have been on my mind for a while. However, I never felt like they should be. I don’t hide my APW addiction or my Pinterest wedding board from my partner. We’ve been together for more than three years, have stated out loud to each other that we’re in it til the end. The first time I ever stayed the night at his place, he asked me what I was thinking, and I honestly replied that I was trying to decide where on earth to hang his tapestry in our future home. But I resigned myself to the hip, indie messaging that I shouldn’t be pining after a wedding when I had the important stuff right in front of me. While there’s lots of value in enjoying where we are in our relationship, I am an impatient person. I want the next thing. Now.

My impatience won out. As did the realization that marching along same as ever will end with us being…the same as ever. If we wanted to get married, it would take some concerted effort to get there. As a decisive, opinionated person who constantly reads smart things about weddings and marriages, I already had an arsenal of thoughts and feelings on the subject. Knowing my partner is a careful, quiet consideration kind of guy, I emailed him a list of things I wanted to discuss re: when are we getting married and how are we going to pay for it. (I was so proud of myself for that.) Our discussion was a good one. Is eloping an option? What do we expect of the event? How are we going to save for it?

The best decision of the evening was that we would start a joint savings account where we can both set aside a specific amount per month, and see how quickly that grows. It’s amazing the freedom I feel from this decision, even with no action taken yet. Even though we aren’t planning a wedding (yet) and don’t have any money saved (yet) and aren’t officially engaged (but don’t plan to be), I feel like the time I put into reading about weddings is more legitimate now. I can get a better idea of how much money we need to save in the first place, which gives us an idea for a savings timeline. I never thought I needed permission to feel things, but it turns out, I needed some kind of permission to truly feel comfortable talking about an eventual wedding that is not even close to being planned yet.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I’m casually browsing ModCloth. I come across a kick-ass party dress that fits my wedding dress criteria for only $63 and I am all over it. (I mean, after sending a picture to two friends for validation. Duh.) It felt a little strange, in an abstract way, to be making a significant purchase for a significant event without any significant feelings about said purchase, but that in itself is freeing. I didn’t feel like I was being crazy for making the purchase, and I didn’t feel like it had to be some big event. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the shopping experience. But you know what? Buying a wedding dress is not the only time I’ll ever get a chance to have a fun, bonding shopping trip with my mom. We have those kinds of trips on the regular.

I hate having expectations set for me, so it was really nice to shrug off any expectations surrounding making-a-freaking-purchase-for-heaven’s-sake. So I bought a dress. I plan to wear it when I get married. And I don’t have to feel anything at all about it, especially not crazy.

]]>http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/buying-a-wedding-dress-before-youre-engaged/feed/65The Silver Lininghttp://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/supporting-your-partner-after-a-traumatic-brain-injury/
http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/04/supporting-your-partner-after-a-traumatic-brain-injury/#commentsWed, 03 Apr 2013 18:30:28 +0000http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/03/work-in-progress-2/There is a method behind the madness of choosing The Good as the theme for APW this month. It’s not because “It’s spring, and we all need cheering up!” and it’s not to ignore the complex and often painful world that we live in.…

There is a method behind the madness of choosing The Good as the theme for APW this month. It’s not because “It’s spring, and we all need cheering up!” and it’s not to ignore the complex and often painful world that we live in. It’s because, as I touched on in my letter from the editor, seeing the good amidst everything else is what helps ground us in the moment. It’s because, as we go through the complicated process of planning weddings and building marriages, we need to be reminded of the kernel of goodness that we’re building our lives around. That goodness isn’t the perfectly mismatched succulent centerpieces. It’s each other, love, and community. It’s the ephemeral bits that you need to catch as they fly by. I’ll leave Brieanna to bring this idea home.

January 20, 2012 was the day that everything changed. My boyfriend was going to a job interview for a line cook position at an Italian restaurant, and we were supposed to hang out afterwards. But we didn’t get the chance because his car swerved off of the road and hit a tree. He was rushed into the ICU with a traumatic brain injury and spent a month in a coma.

The memory of seeing him after he woke up, his big smile when I entered the room, the way he impatiently patted the spot next to him on the bed as if to say, “Well come on,” the way he kissed and held me…it was like he was trying to make up for the month when he couldn’t. As time went on, C grew stronger. He could walk on his own, could tie his own shoes (it had been an area of frustration for awhile), could recount the past (all but his accident). Soon enough he was at home learning to readjust. But anyone who has had a loved one survive traumatic brain injury knows that leaving the hospital is just the beginning, because an injury to the brain changes you physically, mentally, and emotionally.

As he’s recovered, C and I have had to communicate more than before, we’ve had to relearn all our previous relationship boundaries (adjusting them as such), and we both have had to learn to love the new him. (It’s a little harder sometimes for C.) Sometimes the world seems too small and sometimes it seems too big, but C and I have more confidence in ourselves and our relationship than ever.

Some members of my family have said that they worry that this has all been so stressful on me. I can almost hear the “Things would be easier if you were single” tone in their voice. In a way they are right. It would be easier, but I wouldn’t be nearly as happy. A lot of the time you have to pick the harder road to get the better pay off. The funny thing is that leaving never popped into my head. It was never an option, not because I felt I had no choice, but because I had already chosen. I am already committed, and no matter where this relationship goes, I love C irrevocably.

He is now driving (so exciting!) and playing music. We play video games, eat cheeseburgers, cry, laugh, hug, and kiss. (I think the fact we laugh is most important.) I have noticed that he has learned to enjoy life more. Recently he’s started stretching and letting out a loud scream. The other day, finally, after making me jump for the thousandth time, I told him, “I don’t think I remember you doing that before the accident.” He did a short quick nod and said, “I actually can tell you the reason for that. After the accident I realized how great it felt to stretch. To right everything that’s wrong in your body.” He started to fumble a bit when trying to explain how that related to screaming, but I understood the gist of it. C was learning how to enjoy the small things. So even if that means screaming really close to me, and at random intervals I can’t help but smile and kiss his cheek.

So my advice? To appreciate the small things, like C is learning to do, and to always, always appreciate the silver lining, to hold onto the good things while having to go through the tough things, and to know that the best love stories don’t end with happily ever after but something more like work in progress.

Since Christmas, I’ve gotten five Facebook engagement notifications, at least three “When are you getting married?” nudges from relatives, two pregnancy announcements from people I knew when I was a kid, and one wedding invitation for the summer already. If I wanted to, I could rewrite the Twelve Days of Christmas with numbers reminding me of just how not engaged I am.…

Since Christmas, I’ve gotten five Facebook engagement notifications, at least three “When are you getting married?” nudges from relatives, two pregnancy announcements from people I knew when I was a kid, and one wedding invitation for the summer already. If I wanted to, I could rewrite the Twelve Days of Christmas with numbers reminding me of just how not engaged I am. What my true love did not give to me, if you will. I may be just a teensy bit frustrated.

I’ve been in the throes of pre-engagement for quite a while now. I’m not sure exactly when it started, but I would guess it’s been about a year and a half. Last fall, when it was the worst, I had just moved in with my boyfriend and discovered Pinterest, all within a month’s time—a combination I do not recommend. Hours were spent pinning, combing wedding blogs, fantasizing. In my head, I had a dress, venue, flower scheme. (All of which I’ve now mentally chucked, fortunately.) And Boyfriend knew about it. Maybe not all of it, but at least he knew, and luckily, he thought it was cute.

It’s definitely less all-consuming now, but it still comes in waves. I still wonder vaguely, on certain occasions, whether this will be It, but not with the burning, kid-on-Christmas-morning hope that I once did. And I do not miss it. I’m content knowing that I’m with the guy I’ll marry eventually, and our lives are so in flux at the moment—we’re both graduating from advanced degrees and trying to decide where to live and what to do with our careers for the foreseeable future—that a wedding would complicate things probably more than it would simplify. There are only a few frustrations left, the worst of which is having to call him my boyfriend, while people whose relationships have been much shorter or (seemingly) less serious get to call each other “fiancé.” “Boyfriend” and “girlfriend” fall so short of what we actually mean to each other. Middle schoolers can have boyfriends and girlfriends, but we’re planning our futures around each other, and that’s got to deserve something more. Really my frustration is with the English language, not with our relationship.

But to be honest, this interest in weddings has at least served to make me think about what marriage actually is. Yeah, we’d be living together forever and having babies and—as one of my favorite shows once put it—debating whether there’s enough in the dishwasher to justify running it. We’d collaborate, professionally and personally, because we’re good partners, both our careers would be enhanced by it, and we’d be in love and making music forever. In the abstract, that’s easy. Wonderful. But in practice, it takes some finessing. It means getting irritated that he took his shoes off and left them on your side of the bed where you tripped on them again and learning how to deal with it without chucking them at his head. It means plumbing the deepest, most unsavory parts of each other’s souls and learning to love each other anyway, or more because of it. It means looking at the opportunities—often good ones—for both partners and deciding which basket you’ll put your eggs into. We’re musicians, and I know too many couples like us who got married very young and now, because jobs are so scarce, are forced to live miles or states away from their spouses. I would never leave Boyfriend just because of a little distance, but that seems to me like a tragic kind of a marriage, especially when there’s no end in sight. And anyway, it’s good to practice in a low-stakes way, by living together and seeing where we get along easily and where we don’t.

Even more than that, it’s made me think about why I want a wedding. I want to participate in that rite of passage. Ritual is important, and I want to mark the importance of our partnership in our lives with one. I want to be bound to the person I love most in the world, in society’s eyes, not just my own. I want to go up in front of the hundred or so other people that I love most and tell them why I’ve chosen to love him for the rest of my life, and not anyone else. I want to feel all that love swirling around me, so much that it’s too overwhelming and the only answer to all that love is a nice glass of champagne and some really good food.

So. I know him and he knows me, and we know we’re going to be together, so why not tell the world now rather than later?

Judging by a conversation we had over New Year’s, it turns out his concerns are much like most men’s. (At least if you believe all those “Top 10 Reasons He Hasn’t Proposed Yet” articles floating around—yeah, I’ve read those.) He wants us to be out of school before we get engaged. That will be early May, and will coincide neatly with his thirtieth birthday. A small, wistful part of me squeaks, “Maybe?” when I think of that, but I’m not deluded. I know it probably won’t even be then. He also wants to have more money—read: any money—and some geographical stability before we make a permanent, legally bound life together.

My logical mind can understand it. Waiting is, without a doubt, the responsible thing to do. And what’s more, he’s not really ready, and the last thing I want to do is push it. He knows he wants to marry me—he’s known that since before we actually got together—but actually taking the step is another thing altogether. And that I can understand. It’s an aching, impatient understanding, but an understanding nonetheless.

We love each other fiercely and have for years. I have no reason to think that will change, so I’ll just have to content myself with looking forward to the other commitments and big steps I know we’re going to make soon. We’re graduating. He’s turning thirty, and I’m throwing him a kick-ass party. We’re moving somewhere fun—location still TBD. Hell, we’re deciding where to move, together, in my first move that won’t be dictated by school. We’re embarking on an incredibly risky and incredibly exciting career path together, because we love music and we want to approach it as a team. If he asked me to marry me tomorrow, I’m pretty sure I’d say yes, but it won’t happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I might even end up asking him—probably not, but who knows? But I think I can be content knowing we’ll get to that particular milestone someday soon, in our own time, no matter how many sparkly rings and white dresses pop up on Facebook.

]]>http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/02/waiting-for-the-proposal/feed/72Starting With Almost Engagedhttp://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/messy-beginnings/
http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/messy-beginnings/#commentsTue, 29 Jan 2013 12:30:00 +0000http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/starting-with-almost-engaged/If my Facebook feed is any indication, lots and lots and lots of people got engaged over the holidays. (Actually, statistically about a third of engagements happen between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Which is a crazy number.) But the thing is, there are also plenty of people who read this site who aren’t engaged.…

If my Facebook feed is any indication, lots and lots and lots of people got engaged over the holidays. (Actually, statistically about a third of engagements happen between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Which is a crazy number.) But the thing is, there are also plenty of people who read this site who aren’t engaged. Possibly just not yet. Possibly not ever. And we wanted to give a voice to you guys too. Because this time of year is when it can really feel like a race to get all your ducks in a row. And as Rachael explores today, getting your ducks lined up isn’t always what your relationship needs right now.

—Maddie

I am pre-engaged, maybe, I think. I’m in a place where we have agreed, numerous times, that we want to marry each other—someday. But there was no proposal. Just a late morning in bed cuddling and then him whispering into my hair, “I want to marry you someday.” I don’t even know if I was supposed to hear it. But I responded the way any reasonable, giddy-in-love twenty-two-year-old would. I giggled and kissed him. It wasn’t until his “OMG-what-did-I-just-do” panic face made an appearance that I realized my reaction wasn’t as reassuring as I thought. So I shared as well. “I wanna marry you someday, too.”

And then I went to work and spent the rest of the day in a rose-colored cloud. I felt engaged. I felt like one of those girls who was surprised at a fancy dinner with a huge rock. Even though we’d just talked about the future knowing we were together for the long haul. It felt different, like it was official. Like the morning I got to stay in bed late would be our adorable engagement story. I felt like I needed to call my mom and share the news. But I didn’t. Partly because I was working and partly because all day the women I worked with were determined to puncture my rose-colored happiness with reality bites like: “Where’s your ring?” “If he really meant it he’d have asked in a sweeter/more expensive/real proposal way.” “If you don’t have a diamond it doesn’t count.” By the time my shift was up I was a bundle of insecurity and confusion. What felt so wonderful and secure nine hours previously was now a mess of other people’s expectations.

And apparently they were right. Beginnings are messy and full of miscommunications. We talked more when I got home, and he didn’t mean he wanted to be engaged.

I was crushed. A mess of disappointment and anger.

He explained that the timing was bad. He was still in school. We were barely-able-to-buy-food broke. He wasn’t ready to get married. He couldn’t afford to buy a diamond ring right now.

In that moment I wished a slow and painful death to every person who ever worked in the diamond marketing industry.

All I could say in response to his heartfelt attempt to console me was probably more of a curse to the heavens that a statement, “I hate diamonds!” (In my defense, I had spent nine hours with women shoving their diamond rings in my face saying, “This is how you know it’s a real engagement,” and telling me I had to have one.)

The end of our almost-engagement debacle was a rational conversation. He wasn’t ready, I probably wasn’t either. We both agreed we wanted to wait at least a few years before getting married anyway. He needs to finish school. I need to figure out some kind of career. We need to decide where we want to live. We want financial security first. A wedding is last on our list of building-a-life-together activities. But even after that, I still wanted to be able to tell the world we are officially together for forever. I wanted to be able to call him my fiancé instead of my boyfriend.

But I was willing to wait. And six months later, I decided I could propose. I still wanted our commitment to have the official “I can call my mom” feeling. So I was planning to propose on Christmas, with a personalized, leather wallet.

But even the best-laid plans are prone to ruin. Two weeks before Christmas we found out that a lump in my thyroid was growing, and probably cancerous. Between the stresses of doctor visits, waiting for test results, Christmas, and figuring out how we’re going to pay for my treatment, I realized that getting engaged “officially” wasn’t that important. I knew we were going to get married. His parents knew it. My parents knew it. Everyone was already assuming we were eventually headed towards wedding bells.

So my beginning is an in-progress mess. We’re kind of engaged; we’re kind of not. And we both know, regardless of my bare left hand, we’re together and no amount of richer, poorer, sickness, or health is going to change that.

]]>http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/messy-beginnings/feed/59Beginning With The Presenthttp://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/life-threatening-accident-before-the-engagement/
http://apracticalwedding.com/2013/01/life-threatening-accident-before-the-engagement/#commentsTue, 15 Jan 2013 12:30:06 +0000http://apracticalwedding.com/2012/12/no-matter-what-the-future-holds-motorcycle-accident/It’s funny that I instinctively wanted to include this in a week with a lot of posts talking about fertility. Why? Because Blair’s words strike at the heart of creating and realizing a family (in all its many iterations and appearances).…

It’s funny that I instinctively wanted to include this in a week with a lot of posts talking about fertility. Why? Because Blair’s words strike at the heart of creating and realizing a family (in all its many iterations and appearances). Blair talks about the realization of unconditional love and the knowledge that the present is everything. And really, that is what the creation of family is all about—no matter what it looks like.

I entertain the thought of our inevitable engagement daily. In my mind, it’s like a toy that gets tossed around with both gravity and listless levity, frequently hot-potatoed between friends and family: everyone wants to know when it is coming. Admittedly, I am the completely-beside-myself kind of excited. But also, at least most of the time, I find myself asking if I will ever be certain that this man is the future-husband that represents forever—my particular brand of forever. I frequently fall to the nagging sense that maybe the disagreements and arguments over folding towels and getting our schedules right, that his incessant inquiries from a brain locked in the world of engineering, could someday drive me just off the edge.

But I think perhaps acceptance sometimes comes from unexpected places.

Just days ago—long before vows and ribbons and dresses and budgets—Ryan was involved in a massive motorcycle accident that very nearly took his life.

I had just arrived home from work and was singing along happily to (yet another) song I had decided would be featured at our nuptials—one about the challenges of love and the enduring nature of it. How apropos! Wonderful daydreaming! I had gotten off the phone with Ryan not ten minutes prior, and he was on his very brief commute home.

When the phone rang, I thought that, obviously, some contractor was calling about the new counter tops we were trying to order. The stranger on the phone told me his name, and he indicated that Ryan had been in a motorcycle accident and had hit his head. He told me where they were and then held the phone to Ryan. Nothing really registered as Ryan’s voice reported that he had “fallen off his bike” before he either lost consciousness or the phone cut out. Maybe both. Either way, standing there in my living room suddenly became the most ridiculous possible thing to do.

The accident had happened close by, and as I peeled my car onto the side of the road next to the sirens and lights and backed-up traffic for miles, I suddenly understood absolute and unconditional love. As I ran toward the stretcher and crowd of EMTs and police officers, the motorcycle and shredded parts flashed in my periphery.

When I saw him, this man oddly stretched out and half naked with his neck braced and eyes rolling about, I knew that this man could not die. This man could not be crippled or lost. Because this man was my future. This man was my joy and my anger and my angst and my indelible commitment. I don’t think I will ever forget the moment the wind rushed into my lungs, because it was immediately locked somewhere deep inside, and I could not push this gasp out. In that moment I was helpless. There was no say in whether or not I would receive that ring he had so carefully planned, or whether we would be married or ever argue again or that I would get to watch him do any one of a billion mundane things.

It was not until the following day at the hospital, when he was glancing at the hospital menu, chewing his lip in false and silly consternation, that I realized the future just did not matter. No amount of fear or doubt or anxiety or arguments could change that he was right there. Reading a menu.

Ryan recovered fully just days later with only a mild concussion, an outcome I credit in entirety to the extremely well-designed head gear he has always worn in our dangerous decision to ride motorcycles. During a lane change he had glanced behind him while another car merged into his path. We believe he flipped his bike over the trunk of the car and landed alongside it with the bike on top of him. The bystander that called me had lifted it off of him.

Perhaps not everyone gets to experience such a stark moment of realizing that they have found the person they love. Growing up, I would report almost daily to my parents that every day was the “best” or “worst” day of my life, and they would remind me that I had no idea what I was talking about. Watching that one person being lifted into an ambulance, I suddenly knew what the worst night of my life could feel like. Maybe a few years from now I will also know the best.

I don’t remember exhaling that gasp I drew when I first saw him. Maybe it wrapped itself around the uncertainty and fear that we are never right about the person we choose, and it is holding it there indefinitely. I believe I still haven’t let go of that gasp.